


Lit

by Megavirus



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bouncer Mickey, Conversations, Dirty Talk, Drinking, EMT Ian, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Longing, M/M, Masturbation, Mexico, Overdue conversations, Phone Calls & Telephones, Skype, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megavirus/pseuds/Megavirus
Summary: It's been over a year since Mickey and Ian said goodbye at the border. Will late night texts and phone calls rekindle their friendship and lead them back to each other?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctorpond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorpond/gifts).



           The backpack sat covered in clothes in the back of Ian's closet. It was both a reminder of what was and what could have been. A few pieces of clothing, a ratty old cell phone and a pack of cigarettes was all that was left of that weekend. A year and a half later here he sat, backpack open, with his face buried in Mickey’s old black t-shirt trying to find that familiar scent. Like Mickey, it was gone. He plugged the cell phone in and watched the little screen turn blue. He kept service on the cheap throwaway phone because he didn't want to lose the voicemails or text messages from Mickey. He realized hanging onto these things prevented him from fully moving on with anyone else but he wasn't ready to let them go. He scrolled through the text messages smiling at the last one. _You coming? Love you._ For a month Ian had called and texted the number Mickey had used with no answer or reply. He knew Mickey probably tossed the phone but he kept hoping to hear Mickey’s voice. He put the shirt back and unplugged the phone. Before packing it up he sent a text. _I miss you._ He tossed the phone in and zipped up the bag. Before he could put it in the closet he heard the chirp chirp message alert.

      M: _who is this_

    I: _Mickey?_  

                                                                               M: _no_

                                                                                 I: _sorry._

                                                                               M: _who is this?_

                                                                                 I:   _Ian_

                                                                                M: _prove it._

                                                                                  I:   _who the fuck is this?_

                                                                                 M: _just prove it._

                                                                                   I:  _fuck off. I don’t know you._

                                                                                 M: _you might._

                                                                                   I:  _Mickey?? Is this you?_

                                                                                   I: _you OK?_

                                                                                   I: _tell me._

                                                                                 M: _proof._

I: _just call me._

                                                                                 M: _can’t_

                                                                                   I:  _bleachers_

                                                                                   I: _enough proof?_

                                                                                  M: _9pm tomorrow._

                                                                                    I: _wait. what?_

                                                                                    I: _I can’t do that._

                                                                                    I: _hello??? you there?_

I: _you OK?_

If his first mistake was digging out the backpack his second was putting the burner phone in his pocket. He could feel it against his hip. He ran his hand over the outside of his jeans pressing the phone into his hip. It gave him a rush to think Mickey was somewhere out there thinking about him too. Was he safe? What was his life like? Had he found someone? What did 9pm mean? Ian's thoughts were quickly interrupted as Fiona’s warning played in his head. _You turned your life around_. _Mickey would set a match to it._ He thought of his paramedic career. _He would_ _set a match to it_. His bank account. _Set a match to it_. His apartment. _Set a match to it_. His relationship with Trevor. _Set a match to it_. He imagined the ashes piling up around him. He held the small phone in his hand knowing with one twist he could break the phone and his newfound connection to Mickey. He shoved it back in the backpack. He knew he had unlimited hello’s where Mickey was concerned but he didn’t know how many more goodbye’s he had left in him. Watching Mickey drive across the border was worse than seeing him through the glass of jail. At least in jail Ian knew where he was, knew he could see him or could contact him even though he hadn’t. He had made a mistake sending the message and getting caught up in texting with a stranger. He didn’t know if that was really Mickey on the other end of those messages. He knew he wanted it to be Mickey but had zero proof of it. Bleachers didn’t prove anything; someone could be messing with him and not actually getting the coded reference. His gut told him that Mickey would never have kept that phone. The risk associated with getting caught again was too great. Then again, he knew the risks too but he hadn’t managed to get rid of his phone so maybe there was a chance it was Mickey. There was no time to worry about this; he was going to be late for work. Ian shoved the backpack in the closet trying not to think about how much he wanted to strike that match.  

***

         Mickey kept flipping the small phone open and closed as he watched the two men punch each other stupid in the ring. He _knew_ keeping that piece of shit phone had been a mistake. It was the last thing that remained from his life in Chicago and it proved the hardest to get rid of. He wanted to beat it to pieces with a hammer but knew that would only relieve some of his frustrations but not his thoughts of Ian. In moments of weakness he would listen to Ian’s last voicemail over and over. _Call me if you need me._ _Call me if you need me. Call me if you need me._ What if he just wanted him?

          He put the phone back in his pocket when the bell dinged signifying the end of the round. After 5pm on Thursday’s the gym played host to illegal, bare knuckle boxing matches. His part janitor, part bouncer duties kept him busy on these nights. As he watched the battered men stagger to their corners he didn’t know why he suggested 9pm. While it gave him enough time to change his mind before he could do something he would regret it also put him squarely in the middle of fight night. Mickey knew he wasn’t ready to call Ian and felt no good could come from texting. It was a powerful reminder that he couldn’t have what he wanted and why dangle that carrot in front of his own face? He had work to do. The final bell sounded and he watched the men limp out the ring bruised and bloody. His night of cleaning up was just beginning. It was after 1am when he finally got home and like the glutton for pain he was he decided to text Ian.

                                                                          M: _~~sorry I’m late~~_

                                                                          M: _~~I miss you too~~_ ~~.~~

                                                                          M: _~~do you still love me?~~_

                                                                          M: _~~come visit me.~~_

                                                                          M: _~~fuck you Gallagher~~_

                                                                          M: _hey_

After an hour of pretending not to wait for a reply Mickey went to bed. He knew it had been a bad idea to text back in the first place but he lost all semblance of reasoning when it came to Ian. He could never forget Ian but he was trying to move forward. He had something that passed for a life now. He had a job and a tiny apartment above the gym. He had a routine. The money Ian gave him allowed him the luxury of piecing together a new start that wasn’t built on stealing, scams or prostitution. Those things had been part of his life but not always by choice. He was a Milkovich and the name carried the burdens of poverty, crime and a lack of opportunity. Ian’s words at the border still cut him to the quick. _This isn't me anymore. I'm sorry._ It wasn’t necessarily Mickey anymore either but unlike Ian he had no one around to be proud of him or share in his achievements. His siblings didn’t give a shit about him and the recent men in his life did not warrant getting to know outside the bedroom or a cheap motel. Ian was the only man that made his chest burn and the flames were keeping him up at night. He knew the phone had to go, especially if Ian was on the other end.

***

         A month passed with neither Mickey nor Ian attempting to text the other. Both men went about their daily routines as if that brief moment of connection never happened. Ian worked and spent time with Trevor only to be reminded that Trevor didn’t smell like Mickey, didn’t taste like Mickey, didn’t feel like Mickey, and didn’t fuck like Mickey. Mickey’s routine was much the same. Ian invaded his thoughts on the regular, so much so, that when a tall handsome ginger haired boxer was flown in from Ireland for a big Thursday match Mickey had to jerk off in the bathroom, like a teenager…twice. On a Friday night, destiny or doom awaiting, each sat holding their ratty phones feeling the weight of the past heavy in their hands. There was so much to say to each other. Navigating through disappointment, hurt feelings and bruised egos would prove much harder to overcome than the physical distance separating them.

                                                                                 I:  _Is this Mickey?_

M: _yeah_

I:   _call?_

                                                                              M: ~~no.~~

                                                                              M: ~~maybe.~~

                                                                              M: _can’t._

                                                                                I:   _how are you?_

                                                                              M:   _tired._

I: _you still running?_

M: _work asshole._

I: _you work?_

M: _fuck off._

                                                                                 I: _where?_

M: _a gym._

I: _nice. still in same place?_

                                                                              M: _maybe. you still EMT?_

I: ~~can I visit?~~

                                                                                 _I: yeah. helped deliver a baby today._

                                                                               M: ~~you seeing someone?~~

                                                                               M: _law still coming around?_

                                                                                 I: _No. heard you was in Canada._

                                                                               M: _~~still got a boyfriend?~~_

                                                                               M: _fuck that._

I: _gotta go. talk soon_?

                                                                                M: ~~yes~~

                                                                                M: ~~no~~

                                                                                M: ~~no~~

                                                                                M: _yeah, Ok._

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week has passed since Mickey and Ian texted. Mickey gets drunk and calls Ian.

        

           A week passed with no texts or calls. Ian’s overtime schedule coupled with Trevor always being around left him little time to call his fugitive ex-boyfriend. He _was_ capable of thinking of all the things he might say though. _I miss you. Will you ever come back? I’m sorry. I think I still love you._ Ian couldn’t decide if it was fate or foolishness that kept his thoughts on Mickey. He tortured himself thinking about things he should have said or could have done that might have saved their relationship. Things did not feel finished between them. The goodbye at the border didn’t feel real and it wasn’t right. He knew Mickey deserved more than _this isn’t me anymore_. Ian was sure Mickey would have been back to the south side once the cops moved on to something else. A year had passed and Mickey wasn’t back or on anyone’s mind but Ian’s. That stupid burner phone had turned on a part of his brain that he had tried to turn off. Mickey was constantly on his mind. He thought about the dip in Mickey’s back and the fine hair that rested there. He thought about the way Mickey sucked in his breath when he kissed the back of his neck. He thought about the way Mickey would reach for his hand under the covers when they were going to sleep. He thought about that night on the blanket when Mickey brought up jail. He wanted to say so many things but could only muster _it was hard seeing you through that glass_. Ian knew his words would not fail him again.  

          Mickey, on the other hand, decided the best thing to do was pretend that Ian Gallagher fell off the face of the Earth. Problem solved, except he knew Ian was alive and well and fucking someone in Chicago. He was pissed at how angry he got thinking about Ian fucking someone else, caring about someone else, and taking the goddamn fucking time to invest in a relationship with someone else! He should have been used to Ian’s sporadic comings and goings but he wasn’t. That shit show at the border didn’t feel right. He felt broken and angry every time he thought about it. He flexed his fingers wanting to hit something. He grabbed his keys and made his way downstairs to the gym. He needed to feel the inside pain on the outside. He could handle blood, split skin and broken bones but not this fucking heartache over Ian Gallagher again. He needed to pound away the burning in his throat and eyes.

          The punching bag was the first thing that caught his attention. He walked up and walloped it hard sending it swinging. He punched right, left, right left, landing each hit like he was trying to shove his fists through the bag. His wrists began to ache and his knuckles burned red but it still wasn’t enough. He went to the locker room that was used as a catch all. He knew the heavy wooden door was leaning up against the wall waiting to be tossed out. His right fist made contact sending a loud POP echoing through the gym. Mickey felt the familiar hurt and sting of skin scraping wood. POP! _Ian doesn’t give a shit about me_. POP! _Why did he fucking text me?_ POP! _I’m a fucking idiot!_ POP _I don’t want to fucking need him!_ He bit down hard on his bottom lip as the wood splintered beneath his fist and a piece of the door gave way. His knuckles were bloody and he could feel the boom, boom, boom of his heartbeat throbbing in his hand. He shook out his hand wincing at the sharp pain in his wrist. He knew it would be worse tomorrow. He made his way back upstairs to his apartment grabbing the bottle of tequila he saw on his way out the door.  

          An hour later he was drunk and watching the blood seep out of the broken skin every time he made a fist. He knew he had fucked up and broke something. He stumbled to the bathroom and noticed red smears on his face when he glanced in the mirror. Images of Ian bent over, broken and bloody Ian flashed like photographs in his mind. _You_ _love me and you're gay_. Mickey steadied himself at the sink not meeting the eyes in the mirror. _So you can pretend I don't matter to you?_ He was dizzy and his hand continued to throb like a mother fucker. He sat on side of the tub to stop the spinning. He thought his hand felt like a rubber glove filled with water. Regaining his balance he ambled back to the bedroom his mind fuzzy with pain and Ian.

          He downed the last of the tequila with a handful of ibuprofen. His fingers felt numb. He squinted trying to make out the glowing red numbers on his clock. He wasn’t sure if it was 3:30, 5:30 or 8:30. Everything was round and blurry. He dug through his nightstand looking for his phone. He needed to call Toby the gym medic. The tequila had dulled his senses but not the pain in his hand. He needed help and knew he couldn’t go to a hospital. He stopped rummaging when he came across the cheap phone he texted Ian with. A dim and _very_ drunk light bulb went off over Mickey’s head. Ian would know what to do. He was a nurse after all or a doctor or was he a race car driver? Mickey wasn’t for sure but he remembered he wore a blue uniform under the bleachers that day. Like friction igniting phosphorus, the match was lit when Mickey drunk dialed Ian.

***

          Ian felt the tiny vibrations of the burner phone rumbling in his pocket. He’d been carrying it with him anticipating texting Mickey again. He nudged Trevor. “Lemme up. Gotta go to the bathroom.”

          Trevor wrapped his arms tighter around Ian’s waist pushing his head against his shoulder. “I don’t wanna. I’m _really_ comfortable.”

          Ian felt the phone quit buzzing. “I’m gonna piss my pants.”

          Trevor kissed Ian’s shoulder before untangling from him. “Fine. I’ll pause the movie.”

          “Go ahead. I’ve seen it a bunch of times.”

           Ian shut the bathroom door and felt the phone buzz again. He saw one missed call and one new voicemail. His heart sped up as he listened to Mickey’s drunk rambling. _It’s uh, um, fuck, it’s, uh, broke. You can um, can you can uh fix me? Fuck…fuck…hurts. You doctor right? I need uh...fuck this._ He listened again then slipped the phone in his pocket and washed his hands. He texted Carl and walked back to the living room grabbing a bag of chips from the kitchen. “Want one?” He held the bag out to Trevor.

          Trevor, laying on the couch, patted the empty spot in front him. “Let’s finish the movie. I didn’t know he was Tyler the whole fucking time.”

          Ian sat on the end of couch putting Trevor’s sock clad feet in his lap. “Yeah, it’s fucked up. He smiled and rubbed Trevor’s legs. “Who doesn’t want to fuck Brad Pitt though?”

          Trevor rubbed his foot back and forth over Ian’s crotch. “Wanna’ start a fight club?”

           Ian grabbed Trevor’s foot pressing it against his crotch. “Maybe.” _Jesus Carl! Hurry the fuck up!_

           Trevor sat up hearing Ian’s phone rang. “Let it go to voice mail.”

           “Can’t. It’s work, gotta take it.”

           “They’ll call someone else. You’re not the only paramedic on the south side.”

           Ian stands and walks toward the kitchen. “Hello. Yeah, yeah, I didn’t know.” He walks back to the living room grabbing his jacket from the couch. “Yeah, yeah, no problem,” He looks at his watch mouthing the word sorry to Trevor. _“_ Okay, I can be there by 9:30.”

           Trevor flops back on the couch. “I take it you’re going to work.”

           “Yeah, somebody got hurt, called in.” He bends, scraping Trevor’s mouth. “See you in the morning?”

           “Bring donuts and maybe I’ll forgive you for being a lousy boyfriend.”

           Ian zipped up his jacket and took the car keys from Trevor’s outstretched hand. “Lousy boyfriend is off to save a life.”

            He drove a few minutes away from Trevor’s apartment before pulling into an abandoned parking lot. With the phone on speaker he waited for Mickey to pick up. “Goddam it! Pick up the phone!”

             “Huh, what?”

             “Mick, what the fuck? Are you okay?”

             “Uh, fuck. Like a motherfucker.”

             “Are you _shitfaced_? What's wrong?”

             “Fuckin' Gallagher. Fuckin’ door.”

             “Me? What happened?”

             “Uh…a door…um, punched a door. Ian’s a doctor nurse.”

             Ian went into paramedic mode thinking about stabilization of the patient, swelling, three point bone checks and blood flow. Mickey belched and brought him back to reality. “Hey Mick, can you wiggle your fingers?”

             “Yeah, hurts.”

             “Are you bleeding, any bones sticking out? What about swelling?

             “Knuckles and um…uh...a puffy hand.”

             “Gotta clean your hand Mick. Got any alcohol, a first aid kit?”

             “Fuckin’ drank’em.”

             “Jesus Mick, you’re fucked up. Go to the bathroom and rinse your hand in cold water. You got anybody to help you out?”

             “My Ian.”

             Ian smiled and heard the water turn on. “Put your hand in the sink Mick.”

             “Fuck, fuck, fuck, cold!”

             “Let the water run. Tell me about Ian.”

             “Strong. Kisses me. Freckles, fuckin’ alien. Licks my stomach, my-- ”

             Ian felt his face flush and his pants grow tight. “Sounds like a great guy.” He liked licking a lot more than Mickey’s stomach but he wasn’t going to take advantage of him in this altered state.

            “How’s your hand lookin’?”

            “Fuckin’ cold. A bitch.”

            “You bleeding?”

            “Uh no.”

            “Got any bandages?”

            “Mmm, nu-huh.”

            “OK. Wrap your hand in something clean and see if you got any ice or something frozen.” Ian listened as Mickey grunted and groaned knocking shit over. ”You ok Mick?”

            “Gonna go…got to bed. Fucking spinning.”

            “Hope I’ve been a good nurse.”

            “Fuckin’ alien carrot top. Gone.”

            “Mick, I’m here…this is...” Ian scratched at the love is love sticker peeling off the dashboard. _Just tell him goodnight. Tell him goodnight and hang up. Two words-goodnight Mickey._ “So, you like this Ian?”

            “Shit piece of fuck…piece of…”

            Ian laughed. “Geez, you spoke so highly of his tongue skills earlier.”

            “We banged. Suck cock and--”

            “You don’t say?” Ian was finding the conversation and himself growing incredibly hard. He wanted to wax poetic about Mickey’s dick but not like this. He needed Mickey to be fully aware of how much he loved backing him up against a wall before sinking to his knees in front of him. He thought about Mickey moaning his name and arching forward as he licked and sucked slow, soft circles around the head of his cock before taking him fully in his mouth. He wanted Mickey to know he loved the feel of his hands in his hair pushing and pulling in a language only they knew. Ian ran his hands through his hair remembering Mickey leaning into him and almost pulling him bald every time he cupped his balls and kissed up and down the shaft of his cock. Ian knew he made Mickey gooey just by brushing his lips against his balls. He also knew he was going to have a pile of goo in his jeans if he didn’t stop mentally giving Mickey a blow job. He desperately tried not to think about how intimate and submissive he felt when Mickey came in his mouth and watched him swallow it down. There was something visceral and wholly masculine about staring into your lover’s eyes as they exploded in your mouth. Ian was a goner and he knew it. He had to get off the phone with Mickey because he wasn’t about to jerk off in this car. He felt all the moisture leave his mouth. “Mick, you still there?”

            “Goin’ sleep.”

            “Ok, ‘night Mick.”

            “…love him.”

            Ian hung the phone up and promptly reached for his zipper.

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey has avoided contacting Ian for a week since drunk dialing him. What if he said something stupid? The conversation continues.

           It had been a week since Mickey assaulted a door and drunk dialed Ian. The details were still very fuzzy but realizing he’d talked to Ian- and not Toby-for an hour made him want to hurl the stupid phone into the ocean. He might have done it too but he knew he would have jumped in to fetch it back out. He ended up turning it off and shoving it back in the nightstand. It was out of sight but not out of mind. Had the tequila weakened his resolve so much that he professed his crazy love to Ian? Sometime during the week it occurred to him that Ian may have responded to whatever drunken thoughts he’d declared. Maybe he should be worried what Ian had said back to him. After playing out scenario after scenario of what might have been said Mickey turned the phone back on. Curiosity might have killed the cat but satisfaction definitely brought it back.

            The phone dinged and buzzed to life letting him know he had 4 missed calls and 9 text messages.

                                                 I: _call me when you sober up._

                                                 I: _you up yet?_

                                                 I: _how is your hand?_

                                                 I: _Mick?_

                                                 I: _Mickey??_

                                                 I: _are you fuckin alive?_

                                                 I: _I’m worried about you._

                                                 I: _fuckin say something!_

                                                 I: _~~I miss you~~. Fuck you._

           Mickey felt pleased and a little turned on that Ian was pissed. He settled back in bed with a smile on his face and a tingle in his stomach and wondered if this was what online dating felt like.

                                                   M: _~~don’t be mad.~~_

                                                   M: _fuck. I’m ok._

                                                     I: _where you been???_

                                                   M: _around._

                                                     I: _couldn’t text?_

                                                   M: _~~want you too much~~_

                                                   M: _gimp hand._

                                                     I: _broke?_

    M: _sprained_ _wrist_

                                                      I: _why you beatin’ up doors?_

M: _~~you make me crazy~~. _

M: _stupid shit._

                                                      I: _you in trouble?_

M: _I’m not pregnant Gallagher._

           I:   _fuck you._

M: _don’t stroke out._

M: _~~how quick can you get here?~~_

I: _brb_

I: _back_

M: _trouble with the wife?_

         I: _I’m at the station asshole._

         I: _72 hour_ _weekend duty._

M: _slow night?_

         I: _couple gunshots and an OD_

I:   _what are you doing?_

M: _~~thinking about your dick~~_

                                                    M: _~~in my mouth.~~_     

                                                    M: _tired in bed._

                                                      I: _that an invitation?_

I: _~~I know what you want.~~_

M _: fuck off_

M: _~~fuck me~~._

M: _~~then suck me off~~_

I:   ~~I~~ ~~know~~ _~~you think about me.~~_

I:   _jerk off and go to sleep._

M: _you offering_?

                                                       I: _you asking?_

M: _fuck you_

                                                       I: _no comment._

I: _just fuckin with you Mick_

                                                       I: _from the other night…remember?_

M: _what_ _the fuck I say?_

                                                        I:   _stupid shit_

                                                        I:   _thought I was a nurse_

I: _~~you missed me~~_

I: _~~my kisses~~_

I: _~~my mouth~~_

I: _~~my dick~~_

M: _thought I called Toby_

I: _your man?_

M: _the fuck you care?_

I: _what if I do?_

M: _big fuckin mistake_

I: _I decide that._

M: _you did._

I: _what the fuck?!_

M: _didn’t you?_

I: _that’s not fair_

M: _didn’t say it was_

I: _you know how I feel_

M:   _I’m not for you anymore_

I:   _don’t fuckin’ do that!_

I:   _I know what I said!_

M: _what do you want?_

I: _answer your damn phone!_

            Mickey sat holding the buzzing phone. He hadn’t considered their conversation escalating to such a raw spot so quickly. He knew this conversation was long overdue. “What.”

            “What do you mean what do _I_ want?

            “Calm the fuck down Gallagher. You started this. I was leaving you _the fuck_ alone.”

            “You texted back.”

            “I’m a fuckin idiot.”

            “You know how I feel Mick…what I--”

            “Do I? Tell me again, ‘cause I don’t know what the fuck you want.”

            “I miss you. I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

            Mickey took a sip of beer trying to wash away the tension in his throat afraid his voice would betray his feelings. “You say that now. A year ago you were in my rearview mirror not wanting this life…now you want me again? You think _my_ life hasn’t moved on since that day?”

            “Goddamn it Mickey, what do you want me to say? I’m sorry? I AM FUCKING SORRY! I am _fucking_ sorry that I don’t want to run from the law or rob _fucking_ banks. I don’t want that life…but I do want you.”

            Mickey looked at his scratched up hand. “I don’t want this life either but it’s what I got…the fuck am I gonna do about it? I can't even go to a damn hospital. I go to work every day ready to run from this life…run back to…” He opened his wallet and took out the picture he’d stolen from Mandy years ago. A grinning Ian flipping of the camera stared back at him. “I fuck shit up. I kick it ‘til it don’t get up no more. I do that with you? You part of the fallout of my fucked up life?”

            “I was messed up before you. The fucked up part of me that loves you…that wants to be with you but pushes you away...that's me. That’s not your fault. I can self-destruct without you. You know this. I’m a piece of shit. I practically live with someone that I don't care about at all about because they are _the_ furthest thing from you. I don’t know if I’m punishing or protecting myself.”

            Mickey flopped back on the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with us?”

           “You're a Milkovich and I'm a Gallagher; two of south sides finest fuck-ups. We fight every day to keep our skeletons in the closet. Mick, didn’t you _literally_ have a skull in your closet?”

           Mickey smiled at Ian’s playful prodding. “ _You_ had a fuckin’ body in your backyard.”

           “Point taken."

           After a few seconds of silence they both burst into laughter. Their laughter felt nice considering all the emotional baggage they had just hurled at each other. Mickey didn’t want the feeling to stop. “What stupid shit I say the other night?”

           “You don’t wanna know.”

           “Shit, that bad?”

           “When you weren’t worshipping my cock you were insulting me.”

           Mickey was glad Ian couldn’t see the grin plastered across his face. “Fuck you Gallagher.”

           “Yeah, that too and sucking and licking. Although you didn’t make it clear if _I_ was doing the sucking or _you_ were. Course you might have been thinking about that time we both—“

           “I get the idea smart ass. I like dick.”

           “ _My_ dick, you like _my_ dick.”

           Mickey stroked his throbbing cock. “You don’t think about my dick tough guy?”

          “Oh yeah, _A LOT_. I was thinking about you this morning when I jerked off. Thought about fucking your mouth and how you would flick your tongue around the head of my cock every time I pulled out. You remember how crazy that makes me. You remember that, don’t you Mick? ”  

            Mickey couldn’t get enough of Ian’s merciless teasing. Ian knew exactly what he was doing to him…reminding him how weak he really was. Mickey’s breathing quickened as his gripped tightened around his cock and he pumped faster and faster. He moaned out a tight “Yeah.”

            “Sounds like you’re almost there Mick. You still like to have your balls sucked? You loved it when I would lick them and give them soft little kisses. I enjoyed licking my way to your ass…you know I’m an ass man—.”

            Mickey let out a guttural moan and shuddered as he jizzed in his hand. “Fuuuck”.

            “You’re welcome.”

            Mickey listened to the dial tone for a few seconds wondering what just happened and how to make it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bueller?... Bueller?... Bueller? Anybody actually reading this thing? :)


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do a mesh shirt and eyeliner spell disaster for Ian and Trevor? YES! lol

         

        

           Ian snapped the phone shut and sat down on the twin bed in the stations staff quarters. He had a huge grinned plastered on his face thinking about Mickey jerking off. He looked up and saw Sue standing in the doorway drinking a giant pink Slurpee and smiling. “What?”

           “Nothing, you just look like the cat that just ate the canary.”

            Ian laughed, “Something like that. What’s up?”

            She tossed him a manila envelope. “Here’s the info on the paramedic courses you were asking about. Thinking about doing it?”

            Ian thumbed through the papers before tossing them on the table. “Don’t know, just looking into it.”

            Sue flipped the light off. “Try and get some rest; we might get called out again.”

            Ian lay back and closed his eyes replaying the last couple of weeks in his mind. He eventually drifted off thinking about the days before bipolar, before prison, before all of life’s complications, to that sweet spot in time when stolen kisses, warm beer and quick fucks under the bleachers were all they needed.

***

            It was after 1am when Ian and Trevor got in from the youth center charity event. Ian was agitated and wanted to go home and get out of the ridiculous mesh shirt and eyeliner that Trevor had convinced him to wear. He lay back on the bed waiting for Trevor to get in the shower. He wanted to talk to Mickey. His thoughts had spiraled to him all night after noticing a bartender at the event with LIVE ONCE tattooed across his knuckles. Ian was getting aroused just thinking about Mickey’s hands. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_   He closed his eyes waiting for the water to turn on. When he finally heard the shower start he dialed Mickey. Getting no answer he sent a text.

I: you there?

                 M: fight night. can’t talk.

                                                                                                 I: forgot.

M: what’s up?

             I: I need to see you.

                     I: tired of these phones.

 M: talk later.

                  I: new # is 555-5555

                          I: you have a smartphone?

                                                                                                 M: yes

            I: good. gotta go

 

            Ian shoved the phone in his pocket when he heard the shower turn off. He looked up to see Trevor wearing boxer briefs and towel drying his hair. “That was quick.”

            “Thought you were going to jump in with me?”

            Ian stretched rubbing a hand over his days old scruffy face. “I’m going home to get out of this get up. I have work stuff tomorrow.”

            “Stay. I want to celebrate. The center raised almost five thousand dollars.”

            Ian flopped his head back on the pillow. “That’s great but I don’t feel like doing anything else tonight. I just wanna—”

            “It’s better than great. We can expand into the building next door _and_ start that project documenting homeless LGBT teens and their experiences on the street and—.” Trevor threw his towel at Ian. “Are you even listening?”

            Ian sat up swinging his legs over the side of the bed preparing to leave. “I am, I just don’t feel that great.” He placed a hand to his heart. “I can still feel that shitty club music hammering in my chest.” I’m gonna head home.”

            “Stay. Let me take care of you tonight.”

            “I need to go.” _I don’t want to be here._  

            Trevor crossed the room and situated himself between Ian’s legs preventing him from moving. He grabbed a fistful of hair tugging Ian’s head back. “And for the record I like this sad and fucked up Jared Leto look you have going on.” He bent to kiss him.

            Ian jerked his head away. “You got a thing for trying to fix sad and fucked up don’t you? I’m not one of your kids. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

            Trevor took a few steps back rebounding from Ian’s words. “What the fuck Ian? Are you okay, did you drink too much with your—”

            “It’s not always about my damn meds!” Ian felt the mesh shirt shrinking with every breath he took. He yanked it off hurling it at Trevor. “And I’ve had enough of this stupid goddamn shirt!”

            Trevor caught the shirt against his chest. “You need to calm the fuck down! You’ve been moody as hell for weeks and now you’re having a fucking tantrum over this?” He threw the shirt on the floor.

            Ian stood and stepped toward Trevor. “This...this thing were doing…it isn’t working for me anymore.”

            “This thing,” Trevor said mockingly, as he grabbed a bong off the nightstand and sat on the bed behind Ian. “is not working because _you_ can’t fix _me_.”

            Ian turned to face him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

            Trevor took a hit from the bong holding in the smoke. “I’m not your ex.” He blew the cloud of smoke in Ian’s direction. “I’m not a fucked-up-homophobic- _gay_ -degenerate that you can try and tame.”

            The hair on Ian’s neck tingled. “Fuck you and what you think you know.”

            “I know he’s so fucked up he tried to kill your sister AND broke out of prison to be with you. I know he has a kid he doesn’t do shit for.”

            Ian felt the sting of Trevor’s words. “You don’t know shit about Mickey. You only know what somebody told you.”

            Trevor took another pull off the bong blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. “Get over him Ian. You can’t fix his kind of broken. You’re not going to save him without sacrificing yourself. You willing to do that?”

            “I’m not fucking trying to save him.” Ian’s eyes burned holding back the emotions that threatened to break free. “I…I—“.

            Trevor laughed. “What, you love him?”

            Ian felt a rush of adrenaline at Trevor’s contemptuous tone. “Get up.”

            “Really? You trying to prove something?”

             Ian took a deep breath and stepped back. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes trying to rein in his emotions and push the anger away. He saw the black eyeliner smudges on his palms and the fear and disgust in Trevor’s eyes. _Do I look insane_? It was Ian’s turn to laugh. “What, still wondering if it’s my meds or if I’m just this fucked up?”

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” Trevor starts pulling on clothes. “Get your shit together and don’t be here when I get back.”    

            Ian’s heart was beating a hole in his chest. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He was tired of settling for someone else’s life. Trevor had unknowingly helped him create the façade of being okay; that he wasn’t going to turn into Monica or end up like Mickey. He thought back to meeting Mickey at the docks that night. _I have my shit together, Mick! I have a-a fucking boyfriend! You think my life hasn't moved on since you were locked up?_ If Mickey believed these things maybe he could too. He knew being an EMT and having a boyfriend like Trevor didn’t mean he had his shit together or he wouldn’t have kept that stupid phone. He was tired of running away from life’s risks and uncertainties only to wonder what if. _What if I had went to Mexico? What if I had asked him to come back home?_     

             The doubts of being together and making it work were there, and he and Mickey would have to face them, but so was the love. He smiled thinking about Mickey kissing him in the van for first time or waking up with Mickey tucked against his chest feeling each breath he took. Ian saw Trevor grab his car keys and knew he needed to say something. “Wait, you really wanna know about Mickey?”

             “Ian—”

            “He’s probably everything you think he is. He’s the shit-talking bitch-slapping piece of south side trash I fell for. He stood by me when I barely recognized myself. _Can I go in with him?_ He’s strong in ways that you’ll never understand. _I just want everybody here to know I'm fucking gay._ When I was at my worst he didn’t run from me, he fucking ran to me. _It means we take care of each other._ He loves me, even the fucked up parts.” _I'm worried about you. I love you._

            Trevor took a few steps toward Ian. “If he’s so great why the fuck did you come back?”

            “Honestly, a lot of reasons, but you weren’t one of them.”

            Trevor followed Ian to the front door. “You’re a fucking asshole! I knew you were still in love with him. You still in contact with him too?”

            “You don’t know shit.”

            “You’ll get caught Ian, people talk. Aiding and abetting is some serious shit.”

            Ian stood in the open doorway silhouetted by the porch light. His black rimmed eyes giving him an almost wicked look. “I’m not talking to anyone and neither are you.”

            “Are you threatening me?”

            Ian turned and walked down the stairs. “It’s not a threat, just south side rules.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this short and very necessary chapter. As always, I love to know what you thought about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian are still long distance lovers. A Skype session takes place.

          Mickey scratched at the wet Corona label and watched the men in the ring move around in a primitive dance fueled by adrenaline and masculinity. He saw the relief on the men’s faces when they leaned into each other, avoiding a hit or just trying to catch their breath. When they became a tangle of arms and heavy breathing his thoughts turned to Ian. He missed being tangled up in Ian. The way it felt when Ian hugged him from behind, his arms snaking around his waist or pulling him close in bed to whisper good night. He missed the late-night talks about leaving the south side and going someplace where their last names didn’t precede who they were or what they could be. Dreaming aloud in the dark gave Mickey a sense of freedom he’d never felt before. At night, wrapped in each other’s arms, he listened as Ian talked about traveling and seeing the world, maybe going to Vegas or vacationing in Hawaii and Mexico. They were young lovers kissing the night away, heads full of dreams and hearts full of love. Mickey drained his beer and shook those thoughts from his mind. He let out a raucous belch, all too aware of the irony of sitting in Mexico and dreaming about the south side. Those nights and dreams were long gone but Ian was still there when he closed his eyes. His leg bounced in anticipation as he looked at his past messages.

                                                         I: skype?

                                                       M: after work?

                                                       M: be late.

                                                         I: not a problem.                                          

          Ian had sent a picture of his sock clad feet crossed and propped up on a table. Mickey had looked at those feet every hour thinking about seeing him tonight. He wasn’t sure if skyping was the best idea in terms of staying hidden but he needed this. This place was too dangerous for Ian but if things worked out he wouldn’t be here much longer anyway. Mickey put his phone away when he saw Toby approaching him, a big smile plastered across his round face. “What the fuck you smiling at big man?”    

          “Could ask you the same question. Your old lady send you tit pics?” Toby laughed and thumped Mickey on the shoulder with his meaty fist. “Boss wants me and you to do Tuesday nights for the locals.”

          Mickey’s eyebrows arched. “Me? I don’t know shit about the fights.”

          Toby pointed at the stool where Mickey sat every Thursday. “Same thing you do now. You get 250 out right and _maybe_ a piece of what comes in the door. I’ll do the rest.”

           Mickey ran the numbers in his head. A couple of weeks of Tuesday and Thursday nights and he might have enough. “You find out what I was asking about?”

            “Yeah, gonna cost you.” Toby squinted at Mickey. “Who you runnin’ from anyway?”

            “Nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout.” He thought about Sammi and escaping jail. “Nobody died.”

            “I ain’t worried, but no free white man is hiding in Juarez if he ain’t done fucked up somewhere. Motherfuckers killing each other trying to get outta here.”

            Mickey looked past Toby and watched the men in the ring trade blows. He thought about all the stupid decisions that got him here and how bad he wanted to leave. “How much?”

            “Four thousand for passport, driver’s license and birth certificate.”

            “The fuck I need all that for?”

            “Non-negotiable. Two thousand more for a social security card. Any of those can get you across the border dumbass.” Toby pounded Mickey on the back again. “Much easier gettin’ in here than gettin’ out, ain’t it?”

            Mickey felt his dreams of leaving slowly fading away. He didn’t want to talk to Toby anymore. “This fight gonna last all damn night or what?” He walked away, “I’m puttin’ these chairs up.”

            Toby, not finished with the conversation, followed behind. “If you want home bad enough you’ll pay. You thought about a new chin or nose?”

            “The fuck?” Mickey stopped folding chairs and stared at Toby. “You talkin’ ‘bout plastic surgery?”

            “My brother knows a guy who does silicone and shit. Toby tapped his nose and chin. “A little off here, a little more there and wa-lah you’re you _but_ a little different, not so recognizable. Be easier to hide if you a real wanted man. You know Chapo did it.”

            Mickey bit his tongue about El Chapo, the man was so feared and revered that an insult might actually get his tongue cut out. The idea that plastic surgery was being offered as a viable option made him realize just how far away from his life he really was. He kept folding chairs, wishing Toby would let him think in peace. “I’m takin’ these to the back” he started to walk away, “Won’t I still need papers and shit?”

            Toby let out a vigorous laugh. “Only if you trying to be legit.”

            “Yeah.” _Or trying to start a life with the man I love_.

           “Call it a night,” Toby walked past Mickey. “Ronnie and Miguel can finish up here.”

            Mickey tried to push passports and plastic surgery out of his head as he grabbed a beer on his way out the door. He thought about Ian’s feet and the rest of his body as he turned and made his way up the stairs to his apartment. 

*** 

            An hour later Mickey smelled less like cigarettes and muscle rub and more like Ivory soap and anticipation.He studied his nose and chin in the mirror as he ran a hand through his hair to smooth it in place. _Fuck that plastic surgery shit._ He flipped the light off and felt a flutter in his stomach as he thought about Ian. Talking and texting was one thing but seeing each other again added another layer of reconnection in spite of the distance that separated them. Mickey wanted and needed more than the heavy hearts and hurt feelings of their last meeting.

            He had followed Ian’s instructions on setting up skype but still didn’t feel ready. He eyed his one room apartment unsure about how to present himself. Looking around the barren room he knew his options were limited - did he sit on the bed or walk around the bed? He held the phone in his outstretched hand and moved it back and forth and side to side trying to gauge the right angle. He knew he was making more of it than he should but he wanted to look good on this fucked up version of a date that only a fugitive from prison would be trying to have with his ex-boyfriend. His hand went limp and fell to his side. _Is this a date?_

           Mickey drained a beer to calm the butterflies and sat on the bed to make his first ever skype call. After a few failed attempts at connecting, a smiling Ian popped up on his screen. Mickey couldn’t help but think about the many times he and Ian had been separated by a pane of glass. This was a prison of his own making though. He chewed on his bottom lip not knowing exactly how to hold the phone. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.”

            Ian smiled as Mickey swished left, right and all around his laptop screen. “Jesus Mick you’re giving me vertigo, just pretend it’s a mirror.”

            “Verti-what? That the shit Michael Jackson had?”

            Ian laughed. “Nah, he had vitiligo, vertigo means you’re dizzy.” He reached and grabbed a medical dictionary from a stack of books and papers and held it up for Mickey to see, “I’ve been studying.”

            “What, diseases that start with V?”

            “Trying to increase my medical vocabulary.” Ian tossed the book back on the table. “Thinking about taking some paramedic courses, looking into some two-year degrees, maybe even nursing.” He had never said these things aloud to anyone but sharing these goals with Mickey excited him about a future they might have together. He didn’t need Mickey’s approval but he wanted it and as Ian watched Mickey gnaw on his bottom lip he wanted a lot more than that. Mickey looked good, his hair was still damp from a shower and a few pieces were stuck to his forehead. Ian wanted to reach in and brush them back from his face. “You gonna help me study Mick?” He searched Mickey’s face trying to make eye contact. “I might need to practice CPR or something...” He smiled thinking about Mickey’s drunken phone call, “or maybe just be your nurse.”

           Mickey grinned remembering the same phone call as he flashed his once injured hand to Ian. “I need one with all the stupid shit I do.”

           “You look good Mick.”

           Mickey shrugged the compliment away. “Looks like you been workin' out.”

           Ian flexed his biceps. “Yeah, been lazy the last couple of weeks tryin' to figure this school stuff out.”

           “You gonna be nurse, huh?”

           “Maybe, I don’t know. I have so much shit to make up and tests to take just to apply to schools. What do you think?”     

            “I don’t know shit about school.” Mickey felt the sharp pangs of jealousy at Ian’s ability to plan. He listened and nodded as Ian prattled on about books, test scores, and waiting lists, all the while thinking about how he might fit into Ian’s future. _Do I ask him to wait for me again?_ Mickey rubbed his forehead.

            Ian tried to coax a smile from Mickey. “Yeah, we didn’t exactly earn college credits fucking under the bleachers, did we?”

            “Had some good times though.”

           “We can and will have more Mick. Our teenage fuck spot doesn’t have to be the best thing we had.”

            “It’s so damn easy for you. I can’t fuckin’ help you change a lightbulb right now, let alone study.”

            Ian felt like shutting his laptop and starting the conversation again. “I’m trying to move forward and I'm thinking about you...about us. I wanna make new memories. I—”

            “You don’t think I want new memories? I think about your freckled ass every day. I think about the good shit, the bad shit and the fucked up shit in between. I’m tryin’ Ian.”  

            “I can help, you don’t have to do everything by yourself.” Ian rifled through a stack of papers beside his laptop. “Remember when I—”

            “I got it,” Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m working on something.”

            Ian saw the worry and fatigue in Mickey’s eyes. You tryin’ to come back home or…”

           “Why, so a bitch can turn me in? Mickey looked away. “You still gonna be there if I do?”

            “I’m not the same person that watched you drive away Mick.”

            “What if I’m still the same though?” Mickey wished he could feel Ian's arms around him. “I want the same damn things you do Ian but I just can’t walk the fuck outside and get them.” Mickey chewed on his lip again. “I need a fuckin' passport, ID’s and all kinds of paper shit to cross the border.”

            “What about getting smuggled across? I got some money, I— “

            “No.” Mickey had heard too many horror stories about people dying along the way or getting killed and he wasn’t about to risk getting arrested.

            “Come on, I got vacation days. I can visit, we can figure shit out, maybe go to the beach. I’ve always wanted to—.”

           “Can we just drop it?”

           Ian watched Mickey’s brows knit together in frustration and knew it was pointless to go on. He knew Mickey’s stubbornness was rooted in fear and pride so he held his hands up in defeat. “Okay. I’m sorry. This isn’t how I thought this call would go.”

            Mickey looked up when he heard the softness in Ian’s voice. “Me either.”

            “Yeah, I thought I’d show you mine and maybe you’d show me yours.” Ian grinned as Mickey’s eyebrow arched upwards. “Want me to go first?”

            “You ‘bout to show me your dick Gallagher?”

            Ian feigned insult. “Geez Mick, what kind of man do you think I am? I meant our apartments. Get your mind out of my pants and show me where you live.”

            Mickey flipped Ian off. “You’re an asshole. I live in a dump, what more do you need to know?” He patted his bed, “I sleep here,” turned toward a microwave sitting on a small table, “eat there, and…” walked into his tiny bathroom, “shit here. The end.”

            Ian made out a few blurry details of Mickey living situation but it was the bright yellow sleeveless t-shirt that Mickey wore that really caught his attention. The shirt was emblazoned with a red lion wearing boxing gloves. He couldn’t make out the words under the lion but he made a mental note to Google it later. _Is that the gym where he works? Don’t forget, red lion, boxing gloves, red lion, boxing gloves, red lion, boxing gloves._

            Ian picked up his laptop to give Mickey a tour of his apartment. “Mine isn’t any better.” He pointed his screen to the right and showed Mickey a refrigerator, stove and sink sitting along one wall, “this is my kitchen,” he swung to the left showing Mickey a couch, coffee table and a weight bench covered in clothes, “this is my living room slash gym.” He pointed toward the cluttered weight bench, “ I’ve been trying to work on my arms.”

           “I noticed.”

            Ian smiled and walked down a small hallway to his bedroom. He flopped down on his rumpled bed and slowly swiveled his laptop around the bedroom. “And THIS is where—”

           Mickey rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuckin' say it's where the magic happens.”

          “I would never.” Ian laughed. “I was saying, THIS,” he waved his arm in front of him, “is where I sleep, and the bathroom” he swung his laptop to the right, “is over there. It’s nothing fancy but it’s only a block from the station and it gets me out of the madhouse at home.” Ian sat the laptop beside him on the bed. “So, what’s up?”        

           Mickey watched Ian lean back and wince as he stretched his legs out. “You hurt?”

           Ian rubbed his hip, “Nah, got kicked last week trying to restrain someone.” Ian slid his sweats down over his hip to reveal a soft purple bruise. “Looks worse than it is.” He looked up Mickey, “and I don’t have anyone to kiss it and make it better.”

           Mickey’s mouth went dry. He saw the bruise as well as ginger pubic hair peeking above the band of Ian’s sweats. He knew Ian was putting on a show for his benefit. “Your man not taking care of you?”

           Ian adjusted his pants and couldn’t keep from smiling hearing the jealously in Mickey’s voice. “We broke up, he's not the man I want.” Ian leaned back sliding his hand under his shirt and letting it rest against his chest. He purposely let the front of his shirt ride up exposing his stomach. He knew Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off him. “Remember all the times I'd run to you, knocking on your door and shit? I wish I could do that now. I feel like I’m either running away from shit or running into it, you ever feel like that?”

           “All I got is fuckin’ time to think about it all.”

           “Like what?”

           “Like did Brian follow Justin to New York or—you know what the fuck I think about Ian.”          

           Ian’s eyes widened. “You are such a dick. I was being serious AND what the fuck Mick, I begged you to watch that with me!” Ian grabbed a pillow and swatted at the laptop. “And you fuckin' know Brian went to New York.”

          “Maybe.”

          “Maybe what? How could he let THE love of his life get away?”

          “I don’t know Gallagher, how could he?”

          Ian felt the sting behind Mickey’s playful tone. “Ha-Ha, I guess I deserved that.” Ian grabbed a water bottle by his bed and took a swig, “Have you watched Game of Thrones too?”

          “No, I’m not havin' fuckin' slumber parties and circle jerks.”

          Ian laughed picturing Mickey having a slumber party. “Do you provide the brass knuckles and lube or is that BYO?”

         “Fuck off, you weren’t complaining when your dick was in my ass.”

         “Oh, so we were having “slumber parties” in your bedroom all those times.” Ian loved bringing Mickey to the point where he was ready to rip his clothes off and devour him. “And your mouth, don’t forget I never complained when my dick was in your mouth.”

         “Ok smartass, you done?”

         Ian patted the empty bed beside him. “I wish you were here. Don’t laugh but…” he leaned across the bed out of Mickey’s vision and grabbed a pillow wearing a black shirt. “I sleep with this.”.

         Mickey swallowed hard. “That mine?”

         Ian smashed the pillow to his face and inhaled. “Yeah, still smells a little like you too.”

         Mickey was dizzy and hard with desire. He felt like he could dig a tunnel to Chicago with a spoon to get to Ian. “Show me.”

         “Huh?”

          “Show me how much you miss me…and how much you want me.”

          “I miss everything Mick, your hands, your body…your mouth…the way you smell, the way I feel when I’m with you…just everything” Ian slipped his shirt over his head. “There isn’t a part of my body you don’t know, that you haven’t touched. I miss you leaning into me, the way you felt against me when you kissed me here,” Ian touched his neck, “and here,” he traced a path to his collarbone. Ian’s hand dropped to his stomach, his fingers fiddling with the waistband of his pants. “You were always generous with your kisses.”

          Mickey felt caged staring at a half-naked Ian and not able to touch him. He couldn’t think of anything beyond the bulge growing in Ian’s pants and the one throbbing in his own. He hated the power Ian’s body had over him yet hoped this weak-kneed, breathless feeling never went away. He imagined pulling Ian’s sweats over his hips and kissing a path across his stomach starting with that bruise. He could almost feel Ian’s fingers in his hair guiding his head lower and lower until his mouth made contact with his cock.  

             As if reading Mickey’s mind Ian slid his hand beneath the waistband of his sweats. “I miss your kisses other places too. You could be between my legs right now, your mouth wet for me, your dick hard.” Ian moaned and rubbed his thumb across the head of his cock. He groaned and slid his hand up and down his dick. “This what you want?”  

             “I want you to fuck my brains but I’ll make due watching you jerk off.”

             Ian slipped out of his pants feeling a wave of excitement, “What do I get in—“

           “Shut up and fuck your hand Gallagher.”

           “God I miss you Mick.”

          Mickey felt tongue tied as he reached for his own dick trying to match Ian stroke for stroke. He felt the pressure building and knew he wouldn’t last long. He lay back and quickened his pace, ready to explode. He imagined Ian between his legs, his head bobbing up and down as he sucked the head of his cock. Mickey’s hand pumped faster and faster remembering the feeling of sliding in and out of Ian’s warm mouth. The thought of Ian’s tongue tracing the underside of his cock sent him over the edge. Mickey’s hips rocked as he remembered Ian’s mouth swallowing him whole. His toes curled as the orgasm rippled through him as he shot his load. He was breathless and in a brain fog and couldn’t believe he still held the phone in his hand. He saw the satisfied grin on Ian’s face. “Suck my dick Gallagher.”

          Ian, playing with his own dick, grinned. “Pretty sure you just imagined that.”

         Mickey nodded toward Ian. “What are you doing about that fuckin’ rocket about to go off in your hand?”

         Ian continued grinning at Mickey as he moved his hand up and down his dick. “You wanna ride this rocket again, Mick?”

            “I’m gonna wipe that smug look off your face with my dick when I see you again, how ‘bout that?”

            Ian stroked his cock, his eyes never leaving Mickey. “Promises, promises. What else you gonna do?”

            It was Mickey’s turn to grin. “Take a shower and go to bed. I’m fuckin’ tired.”

            A low growl escaped Ian’s lips as he stroked faster. “What about me?”

           Mickey watched Ian’s hand wishing it were his own. “Am I sucking you off or am I bent over the sink with my dick in my hand. I know how your showers end.”

           Ian felt his orgasm building. “I’m coming for you Mick I’m—” His stomach clenched as the bliss of his orgasm raced through him. He felt the wetness between his fingers and slowed his stroke. Neither he nor Mickey said anything as they stared at each other. Both yearned to feel the other’s body against his, fingers laced and feet tangled as they drifted off to sleep murmuring I love you’s. Ian broke the silence, “Going to the bathroom, be right back.” A few minutes later he appeared in boxers as he got into bed and rolled over to face the on-screen Mickey. “I miss you Mick. We gonna work this out? I don’t care if it’s here, there, or fuckin’ wherever, I wanna be with you. I love you…I miss you and I love you.”

            “I love you and I’m trying to figure it out. It was a fuckin’ mistake to come here.”

            “Are you really okay there?”

            “I’m good.”

            Ian thought about the lion on Mickey’s shirt. “Maybe I’ll find you first.” He heard his phone buzzing and blowing up with messages from the next room. “Hang on, gotta get my phone, might be work.”

            Ian left the room and Mickey saw the books stacked up on his nightstand and while he couldn’t make out titles he guessed they had something to do with school or work. Ian had a life without him, one he didn’t know how he would fit into. Ian returned and Mickey didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “What about the things you want…school and work and shit like that.”

            “You know there’s a world outside of here, Mick. I can work and go to school anywhere.”

            “With an escaped convict? It’s not like I can fuckin’ work at Walmart. What am I doing while you’re working? I ain’t a fuckin’ housewife Ian.”

            “Come on Mickey, the idea of you meeting me at the door with a beer in one hand and your dick in the other is a very appealing proposition.” Ian’s tone turned serious. “You can stay out of jail, you can have a life that doesn’t involve whores, and murder and shit like that.”

            “I’m not you Ian, my mistakes have never been forgiven or forgotten.” Mickey ground the heel of his hand into his eye. “I get caught and I go back to jail…and maybe you too.” Mickey looked away. “Why don’t you fuckin’ get this?”

             Ian shook his head, “Who says I don’t? I know what I’m getting into Mick. I love you and I’m going to help you.” Ian ran his finger along the laptop screen tracing Mickey’s face. “Do you want to be with me?”    

           “You know I do but—”

           “Then quit being a pussy and be with me.”

           Mickey loved Ian’s unwavering attachment to risky things, himself included. “I’m seriously gonna beat your ass when I see you.”

           “Again, with these promises.” Ian loved seeing Mickey smile. “I hate to but I really gotta go to bed, 5am comes around quick.”

          “Yeah, I’m going to bed too.”

          “I love you Mick.” _I’m coming for you._

          “Love you too.” _I’ll find a way back to you._


	6. 6

 

 

     Ian looked at his list and while he felt a sense of pride having completed so many tasks it seemed for every one he crossed off two more popped up in its place. On paper, like in real life, his wants and goals were forever mixed up with Mickey Milkovich.

 

                        _~~Mail paramedic course packet.~~_

_~~FAFSA~~_

_~~Mail applications~~._

_~~Mail transcripts. (Do I have transcripts)?~~_

_~~Take ACT~~_ ~~again. _(call Lip)_~~

_~~Nursing Bridge program... KY. Call for info~~_

_Mexico????_

_Jobs in KY?? Flight nurse??  Travel nurse??_

_Program requirements?_

_Him here? Me there?_

_Fall semester?_

_Where live?_

_Ian Gallagher R.N. ??? (WTF)_

_~~Call Iggy.~~_

_~~Passports~~_

_~~Driver’s license~~_

_~~Library card...anything and everything.~~_

_~~Birth record.~~_

_Car?_

_Money!!!!_

_Thanksgiving /Christmas?_

_Deadline for applications is December!!_

_New Year’s Eve?_

     If things worked out he’d not only have his shit together but Mickey would also have the needed papers to cross the border and they could ride off into the sunset before the New Year and live happily ever after. Of course, that only happened in the movies and never in real life and _never_ for a Gallagher or a Milkovich. Real life held every imaginable obstacle preventing that magical movie moment from happening. Ian sighed and slipped the list back into his wallet and thought about Mickey’s warning of letting him handle getting back to Chicago on his own. He wasn’t about to do that especially since reading all the shit about Juarez. Mickey's south side pride and macho bravado was going to have to take a backseat this time. He was going to Mexico whether Mickey liked it or not.       

***

     Iggy tossed a manila envelope on the table. "Here ya go."  He drained his beer and tossed the bottle in the pile by the already overflowing trash-can. Leaning back against the couch he watched Ian sift through the papers. "So, you gonna put a ring on it or what?" 

     Ian quirked an eyebrow in Iggy’s direction. "I didn't take you for a Beyoncé fan."           

     Iggy belched and cracked open another bottle. He propping his feet on the coffee table and took a long pull on his beer. "What can I say, I'm woke."

         Ian laughed. _Sure you are_ _Iggy, sure you are._ "Great, just what the world needs, a socially aware Milkovich with access to an Uzi."

       "You need a gun? Didn't even ask. I can hook you up. Mick’s gonna want a gun."

       "Nope, no guns."

      "I gotta sweet Ruger my brother would love to get his hands on."

      “Thanks but no thanks. I’m trying to keep him outta jail, not provide more reasons to send him back."  _Don't think about jail. Don't think about jail. It will all work out. Jail. Jail. Jail. Jail. Yep, not thinking about it._

       Iggy shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself but he’s gonna want one."

      Ian waved the envelope towards Iggy hoping to change the subject, "Man, you got some serious skills, this stuff looks amazing.” He was thankful Iggy had been on board from the beginning with only minimal questions.  His hands slowed as he sorted through the papers and I.D.’s. A grin spread across his face. “Wait, your name is Ignatius Emmanuel Milkovich…what the fuck is up with these names?” _Milkhalio Aleksandr Milkovich._ Ian shoved everything back in the envelope not giving Iggy a chance to answer. “So, what do I owe you, IGNATIUS?"

             Iggy flipped Ian the bird. "Nothin’, Mick would crack my fuckin' skull."             

             Ian nodded. "This stays between us?"              

             "Yeah." Iggy lit a cigarette. “You bringin’ Mick back home or what?”

            Ian paused, unsure how to answer the question. It was the one thing neither he nor Mickey had really seriously talked about. “Uh…not really sure of anything at this point Ig.” Ian zipped the envelope in his backpack as he made his way to the door. He stole a glance toward Mickey’s old room and his chest swelled. He thought about all the rushed touches, kisses, and whispered wants that went on behind that closed door. _I won't let you down again._ He hoped he’d made the right decision coming here without telling Mickey but until all of the loose ends were tied up not saying anything seemed the better idea. “Hey Ig, I might need your help with something else, it okay if I text you later?"             

         Iggy nodded and tossed another bottle in the direction of the garbage can. "You never said how you found Mick."           

Ian felt his pants tighten thinking about his Skype session with Mickey. "Trust me Ig, you do not wanna know."

***

 

           It was 4:30am by the time Ian got settled in at the station. Eleven runs and a surprise strength training session had left him bone tired. His shoulders ached from pullups and he still felt the burn of the battle rope in his biceps. He showered and claimed the small single room while his buddies prepared to watch a game in the bunk room. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize or relive the day’s runs. He sat on side of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck feeling his muscles tight with stress, exhaustion and overthinking everything. Despite the need and want for sleep his mind was elsewhere.  _I'll just say hi. Just a quick text. No ulterior motives. Yep, just a quick hi, can I tell you all the dirty things I am going to do to you? Maybe a hey there, my dick is really missing you. or how about a howdy, can I eat your ass?_ He couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face as he texted Mickey.

 I.   Your brother asked me if I was gonna put a ring on it lol

M.  My brother? 

M.  What the fuck?

_Uh oh, so much for being flirty and covert._

 I.  I’m at work. Just saying hi. Can’t get into it. I'll call you when I'm off. _This is not going as planned._

M. Get into it.

With a huff Ian dumped the papers and I.D.s on the bed and sent Mickey a pic. _This is a bad idea but here I go_.

 I.  These are for you.

Ian took a deep breath. _Might as well get it all over with._

 I.  I’m bringing them to you.

M.  The fuck you are. You don’t know where the hell I am.

  I.  123 B Street, Juarez.

 I.  Saw your gym shirt when we Skyped. _Can we do that again soon!_ Googled and found it…and you.

M.  You the fucker been calling and hanging up?

 I.  No.

 I.  Maybe.

 I.  Yes. _I needed to know you were still there._

M.  Fuck you.

Ian blamed his lack of judgement on exhaustion and a raging hard on. He didn’t want to get into anything serious this late. _Why the fuck did I do that_? Mickey deserved answers but he wasn't capable of having that conversation right now.  _You are such_ a _Chickenshit Gallagher._  

 I.  I’m not opposed to that.

 I.  This something you been thinking about?

M.  What??

  I.  Fucking me.

M.  I’m serious. What the fuck you think you’re doing? Where did you get all that stuff? How?

M.  What if you get caught?

Mickey wasn’t going to let it drop.

I.  I won’t. We won’t.

I.  I’m exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow? Didn’t want to bring it up this way.  _Can we just talk about fucking?_

M.  We are definitely talking tomorrow.

M.  But…yeah…thanks for all that stuff. You didn’t have to.

  I.  I sort of did and Iggy did most of it.

M.  And why the fuck was my brother asking about cock rings?

     Envisioning Mickey and a cock ring pushed aside any stray thoughts about border patrol, ID’s and what happens after. He welcomed the distraction of Mickey’s dick. _I need this. He needs this.  Tomorrow...we'll talk about everything tomorrow._

I.  LOL Don't think he meant that kind of ring but I’m flexible. _I do yoga now and can bend in ways you’re going to love._

M.  I’m horny as fuck.

  I.  Same. Wish you were here. _I know lets get your mind on something else._

 M.  Yeah, I bet you do.

   I.  I’d have a lot less clothes on and you’d be between my thighs.

 M.  Doing what?

   I.  You tell me. _I suggest_ s _ucking, licking, jerking off, rimming, frotting, fucking._

 M.  You want dirty talk Gallagher? You perv. 

   I.   takes one to know one. 

  M.  Gonna owe me for this.

    I.  No problem. This currency work? (Sends dick pic)

    I.  So…back to my question...what exactly are you doing between my legs?

M.  I’m definitely sucking you off. I’m going pretty slow. I love the taste of you.

M.  You moan my name as I tease the head of your cock. You like it when I suck real slow.

M.  Your hips rise to meet my mouth. I hold your cock but let you thrust a little in my mouth.

M.  You love fucking my mouth.

M.  I love when you say my name.

M.  I suck faster, taking you deeper.

M.  I don’t let up. I'm sucking hard and feel your hands in my hair pushing my head further down. I know you’re about to lose it.

M.  My hands fall to my side as I let you fuck my mouth. You spread your thighs as you push further in my mouth. You blow your load. I suck long and slow till you push me off.

M.  When I pull off my mouth is wet with the taste of you. I’m out of breath and need you to fuck me.

M.  You lean down and kiss me and i grab my dick.…

M.  ….Ian?

  I.  Sorry…hands were busy. Damn Mick. That was hot.

  I. I need another shower.

 M.  You bust a nut and I still got blue balls. Not fair!

   I.  Ok. Can I watch you jerk off?

  M.  You really are a perv.

    I. thought maybe...you still have that toy?   _I know you Mickey Milkovich_! 

  M.  Give me a second before you Skype me.

 

***

    Ian plopped down in the booth at Patsy's to wait for Fiona. His muscles still ached and he was one blink away from falling asleep. He wanted to be home in bed but couldn't evade his sister any longer. She threatened to report him missing if he didn’t stop by the restaurant. He sighed, put on a smile and waved a hand when he saw her approaching. _Let this not be about anything serious._

     Fiona ruffled his hair as she slid in the seat across from him. "Hey stranger, hungry, need a coffee?"

           "Nah, I'm on my way home. So...what's up?"

           "Nothing, can't a sister just want to talk to her brother?"

           Ian gave her a questioning look. “Since when are we those kinds of people?”

           "Ha-ha. So, how's work and everything? You...um...what about you and Trevor, things still good with you two?"

           Ian had underestimated Trevor. _The fucker actually went to Fiona._ "We broke up awhile ago but I'm guessing you already know that."

           "He came by, said he was worried about you, thought you—"

           Ian rolled his eyes. _Motherfucker._ "Stop. I’m fine. I'm taking my meds, I'm working. I’m not plotting to overthrow the government or start a new religion. I’m good.” He watched her eyes worry as she continued to pick at a chipped spot on the table. “Okay, what else did he say?” 

             “That you threatened him and…uh…said some stuff about Mickey?” Fiona tried to keep her voice neutral. “Is he back in town? You know he'll be right back in jail."

         Ian's stared out the window wishing he'd never stopped by. He thought about the flirty texting last night.  _It could be like that all the time._ He didn't owe Fiona an explanation about anything considering how she felt about him and Mickey. "Mickey’s not the issue. I got a shit ton of stuff going on right now. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. _Is this how it’s always going to be with us Fiona?_ Ian swallowed the lump in his throat. “I'm thinking about taking some classes. If I’m accepted into a nursing program I might even be moving. I'm…I’m starting something new. It’s not always about Mickey."  _Damn you Fiona!_ _He doesn't have to go back to jail. He won't go back, I_ _won't let him._  

     “MOVING, what the fuck Ian!? When were you gonna say something?"

     "I'm saying it now and nothing is official. I’m still working things out," _Let’s see, I need a car, a place to live, tuition, money and oh yeah, not to be arrested by the border patrol when I go to Mexico to get Mickey. Nope, nothing too serious or potentially felonious._

     “What schools are you looking at? What about colleges here, what—” Fiona jerked her head toward the loud crash of breaking dishes that came from the kitchen. She put on her mom voice as she pointed a finger at Ian. “Don’t go anywhere, I need to see what the fuck that was all about.”

     Ian took the crash as his cue to escape. _Thank you whoever you are!_ “I’ve had a long night. I need to go home.” They both stood and he couldn’t avoid Fiona’s gaze, “I’m fine so stop worrying about me, okay?” _I think I’m fine. I’m almost fine. I’m going to be fine._

     She raised her hands signaling defeat. “Okay, Okay, I give up. I’ll leave you alone.” She gave him a quick hug and walked towards the kitchen but then turned back. “Hey, you should invite Trevor to Thanksgiving if you get back together.”

     Ian pretended not to hear her as the door closed behind him. _Never fucking happening._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a shit updater. I'm very happy that you guys want to read it though. Thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I welcome all comments.


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